


Six Months

by velourianspirit



Category: & Juliet - Martin/West Read
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anne goes to therapy, Anne needs a hug, Cancer, Child Death, Crying, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotions, F/M, Judith & Susanna need hugs, Leukemia, Men Crying, Mentions of Cancer, Modern Setting, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Canon, Sadness, Strained Relationship, Swearing, Therapy Referral, Trauma, What Have I Done, Will Needs a Hug, distancing, emotional tension, i guess?, maybe i cried, this is what quarantine does to the fair verona discord server
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velourianspirit/pseuds/velourianspirit
Summary: Hamnet Shakespeare's life draws to a close, and everything comes crashing down for Will & Anne.
Relationships: Anne Hathaway Shakespeare/William Shakespeare
Kudos: 4





	1. the world comes crashing down

Hamnet was sleeping softly on Anne’s chest that night. Regardless of how much he slept, he was always tired. Anne knew that her little boy didn’t have much time left -- he was a shell of his former self. He was a fighter, she knew that. The doctors had given him about six months, and he was still going over two years later. Hamnet was brave, so incredibly brave, but Anne knew his days were numbered.

She stayed awake all through the night, not moving her eyes from her son’s weak body. He woke up at some point in a lot of pain, and all Anne could do was comfort her little boy through the tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. His breathing sounded so pained, as if he was struggling to breathe. Anne had been warned about the strange sound that her little boy might make as he comes to his final days; the doctors referred to it as the death rattle. It was a disturbing sound that dying people made when they couldn’t swallow or cough.

When some time passed and Hamnet was still making the sound, she knew that her little boy was dying. Her little boy was dying, and Will was still in London. Hamnet was dying and she had no-one to turn to. Her eyes scarcely moved from Hamnet’s chest, watching him intently as he struggled to breathe. It wasn’t too long until his chest stopped moving altogether.

There it was. Anne’s heart shattered as she realised what’d just happened. She’d just watched her little boy die. 

Anne wept. Tears streamed down her cheeks for what seemed like hours as she cradled her little boy’s cold body. Each minute that passed felt like hours. She kissed her little boy’s forehead, still in tears, and reached for the phone. She’d kept it next to her for the past few weeks. The doctors warned her a few weeks ago that, while Hamnet was strong, he didn’t have much time left and it was in everyone’s best interest if she kept a phone nearby at all times.

It was late at night and Anne didn’t know what to do. The doctors weren’t open until the morning, and Anne didn’t know if she wanted to call Will yet. Everything was so fresh, and telling Will just didn’t feel right. They’d planned everything together when they were told Hamnet didn’t have much time left, but Anne hadn’t expected to be alone when it happened.

She didn’t call Will. Hamnet’s body was still limp, so it wasn’t hard at all to move him. She scooped his frail, light body up in her arms and carried him almost ceremoniously to his bedroom, placing him delicately on his bed. Anne sat with her little boy’s body until the sun peeked through his curtains. The initial feeling of shock that Anne felt had passed. She just felt so incredibly numb as she called up the doctors, waiting to speak to the family doctor as soon as possible.

“Ms. Hathaway, what can I do for you this morning?” asked the family doctor. He wasn’t exactly cheery, but the tone seemed far too light considering what’d just happened. Of course, he wasn’t to know -- as far as he knew, until Anne said otherwise, it was just another request for an emergency appointment on Hamnet’s behalf.

“Hamnet passed away in the night,” said Anne, her voice nothing more than a heartbroken whisper. She started to sob down the phone, clapping her hand over her mouth to avoid waking up the girls. She wanted nothing more than to be with Will. She wanted to be held in his embrace as she cried, but she couldn’t have that. Instead, she was alone.

For the next thirty minutes or so, Anne spoke to the family doctor over the phone as he went over the next stages. They went through so many questions together, discussing any support Anne, Will and the kids needed. The doctor told Anne to contact the registry office as soon as possible to officially register Hamnet’s death; after that, she would need to contact their chosen funeral director for his body to be collected and prepared for the burial.

She was doing this all alone, of course. She hadn’t mentioned that Will was still in London, burying himself in his work. It was about nine by the time Anne and the family doctor finished their lengthy discussion, and it’d only just hit her that she hadn’t told Will yet.

There was no telling that he’d answer the phone, of course. Anne would sometimes call at the height of the day and she wouldn’t get an answer. Not getting an answer from her husband felt like something of a betrayal. They were meant to be doing this together, weren’t they? Their son had just died, and Will was just over a hundred miles away, determined to keep focus on his work as Hamnet faded away. 

Reluctantly, she called Will, her heart thumping audibly as she waited for him to pick up. Pick up, pick up, please pick up. I can’t do this without you. The first phone call went straight to his voicemail, but Anne immediately called him back. She needed to hear his voice. God, she needed to tell him that Hamnet had slipped away in the night -- could she really do that?

“Anne,” said Will. As soon as she heard Will’s voice, tears pricked at the corner of Anne’s eyes yet again. “Is everything okay?”

“Hamnet’s g-gone, William,” sobbed Anne, crying audibly down the phone. Radio silence followed as Anne cried. Minutes passed until Anne found the courage to speak again, wiping frantically at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “He went during the night.”

“Shit,” whispered Will, heartbreak audible in his voice. “You’ve not told the girls yet, have you?”

“N-no,” continued Anne. “They’re still asleep. I can’t -- I can’t do this without you, Will.”

“I know. I know. I’m so sorry, Anne. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Anne put the phone down on the coffee table in front of her, still crying, unable to stop. It was only a few minutes later that Susanna wandered into the living room. Immediately looking up at the sound of footsteps, Anne wiped away her tears and smiled weakly at her eldest daughter. Susanna was thirteen, and was truly starting to understand the concept of death. 

“Are you alright, Mum?” asked Susanna, sitting down next to her mother. “Is Hamnet okay?”

“He’s not in pain anymore,” said Anne. Susanna’s eyes almost immediately filled with the realisation of what Anne had just said; within seconds, she was hugging her mother, the two of them crying into each other’s shoulders. Telling Susanna wasn’t the hard part -- even telling Judith would be easier than waiting for Will to arrive. She didn’t know how soon he’d be back; what if he wasn’t back for weeks? What would she do then? It wasn’t fair to rely on her daughters, but she didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

As soon as Judith was awake and mildly spritely, Anne sat her down and told her that her brother had gone in the night. Judith cried and cried, naturally -- after all, Hamnet was her twin. All throughout Hamnet’s struggle with leukemia, she’d been there for him. She was surprisingly understanding for an eleven-year-old.

Anne, Judith and Susanna slept in the same bed that night, and slept in the same bed every night until Will came home. Anne could scarcely look at him. His son had died, and it’d taken him a week to get home to them. Anne knew how much Will loved his work, but did he really care that little about his family? 

Anne slept on the sofa that night. She didn’t want to face him. She couldn’t face him. It was almost over, anyway -- all they needed to do was bury their little boy. There wasn’t a formal ceremony. The family watched as the eleven-year-old Hamnet was finally put to rest. Anne cried painfully into Will’s chest, distraught by the sight of Hamnet’s small coffin being lowered into the ground. All she could do was cry.

“I have to go back to London tomorrow,” said Will that evening. Deep down, Will’s words ached. Anne’s heart was already broken. She’d dealt with her little boy’s death almost completely by herself, and Will was already leaving. She felt nothing even as she processed Will’s words. “I’m sorry, Anne. It’s not fair. I’m sorry.”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “Life isn’t fair, William. I know that now.”

Anne turned to face the wall, silently crying. Hamnet was gone. They’d just buried their son, and Will was already leaving. Part of Anne didn’t want to see him again -- not for a long time, at least.


	2. the lowest point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months go on since Hamnet's passing, and things don't get better.

Anne woke up and was unsurprised when she noticed the other side of the bed was already unoccupied. She wouldn’t be surprised if Will snuck away as soon as he could. While she longed for Will, she only longed for him because she didn’t have any other form of support. It wasn’t fair to rely on the girls for support. Upon realising that Will was most certainly gone, Anne felt nothing. She was numb.

Normally, she would’ve cried if Will snuck away during the night. She felt upset when she discovered the short, blunt note that he’d left, but she didn’t care. Anne sat down on the sofa and buried her head in her hands.

She didn’t know how she’d cope. She struggled to see how she could progress with her life when she’d just buried her little boy. Anne wasn’t sure that her life had much meaning. Both of the men in her life were gone. She’d never see Hamnet again, and as for Will… well, she didn’t have a clue when he’d be back. The night after they’d buried Hamnet, Anne couldn’t even sleep in her own bed. She stared at Will’s side of the bed, and just started crying. She was alone. Her little boy had died, and her husband was gone.

She spent most of her days burying herself in the kitchen, of course. Judith and Susanna would lend helping hands whenever Anne would let them. Anne delved into her unused cookbooks and finessed a wide range of recipes, doing whatever she could do to distract herself. She would scarcely sleep, distracting herself with the plethora of books she took out from the local library.

Obviously, Anne was expecting Hamnet to pass away at some point. She hated the idea of watching her own child die, but she didn’t exactly have a choice. When it came to the diagnosis, of course, there was hope. He fought with so much determination. He was so strong, of course. He would sleep between Anne and Will in their bed whenever Will was there; even when he wasn’t, Hamnet would often sleep in their bed anyway.

When she finally went to the doctors under the recommendation of Judith and Susanna, the family doctor referred Anne to a therapist.

“I know Hamnet’s passing has been incredibly difficult on you and your family, Anne,” said the doctor. “It’s very understandable to be in a state of mourning for a prolonged amount of time, especially when you lose a child, but I’d just like to run some things through with you to ensure that you’re processing everything as you should be.”

The doctor gave Anne a survey detailing questions regarding how she was coping with Hamnet’s death. The questions were worrying to Anne, because as she went further down the list, she realised for the first time that she was suffering. She spent her time in the kitchen because she didn’t know how else she could cope. One particular question terrified Anne -- it asked her if she saw a meaning to go on anymore, and if it wasn’t for the girls… well, she didn’t know if she did.

The doctor sighed as he noted down the answers Anne gave. “I think, Anne, it’d be best if I referred you directly to a therapist,” said the doctor. “I know therapy is extremely daunting to think about, but if you’re not getting the help you need, I’m afraid you won’t be able to move on. Of course, no-one’s expecting you to forget Hamnet, but I think it’d be in your best interest if you pursued a therapy that’s best suited to you.”

Anne just nodded. Of course she was struggling -- how could she move on when she was missing her number one vital support network? Anne had scarcely talked to Will since he’d left almost immediately after they buried Hamnet. She’d call him up, waiting and waiting for an answer, nonetheless unsurprised when Will didn’t pick up. She just longed to hear his voice. Even though she was initially angry with Will, she needed to hear his voice. She needed him when he wasn’t there.

After she left the doctors, she dialled Will’s number, verging on the edge of tears. She couldn’t turn to anyone else. She just needed to hear his voice for the first time in weeks. Pick up, pick up, please. I can’t do this. The phone rang and rang and rang until --

“ _Hello, you’ve reached Will’s voicemail. Please do leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can_.”

That message. That dreaded fucking message practically haunted Anne. The phone beeped, indicating that Anne could leave a message -- and thus, she did.

“I need you here,” sobbed Anne, biting her lip. “I can’t do this without you. It’s all too much without you, William. The doctor referred me to a fucking therapist, William -- how am I meant to do this without you? It’s all too much without you here. I know your work is important, but… please, even if it’s just for a week, I need you here with me. Just come back to me.”

Anne pulled the phone away from her ear, hung up and just kept crying. She practically collapsed onto a bench, crying into her hands. She was so incredibly tired of putting on a brave face when she was struggling. She was supposed to be Judith and Susanna’s support network, for God’s sake, but she couldn’t be that support network without Will by her side.

* * *

Away in London, Will was burying himself in his work. He hadn’t talked to Anne in weeks, just because he couldn’t build up the courage to do so. He couldn’t sleep, and struggled to eat much more than a sandwich. He consumed far too much coffee for his own good -- whenever he wasn’t tired, he was jittery and had a persistent headache, but he carried on with his work nonetheless.

Every few days, Anne would ring, and Will would just let her phone calls go straight to voicemail. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to her without breaking down on the spot. He felt so incredibly worthless -- he’d let down his family by not being there for Hamnet, and he’d let them down again when he crept away during the night without little explanation. Will felt an immense cloud of guilt shrouding over him, but he didn’t even know where he’d begin if he picked up the phone and heard Anne’s voice in real-time.

Will remembered the last words Anne had said to him before he’d left for London in the middle of the night. Stop it. Life isn’t fair, William. I know that now.

It wasn’t commonplace for Anne to address him by his full name. When it happened, Will knew she was serious. The tone of her voice. She was heartbroken and enraged all at once, and all Will could manage was a half-assed apology.

_Stupid. Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid._

The truth was, Will was barely burying himself into his work. He was trying to work, of course -- it was a feasible distraction when he could muster the energy to write. And when he could find that energy, he’d write and write and write until he was burned out. His only confidant was in Kit Marlowe, who hadn’t lost anyone in the same capacity that Will had, but knew how to give the best advice to the struggling Will. Even so, advice wasn’t much. With each passing day, Will ate less and less, and grew to hate himself more and more.

Was there much point anymore? Will didn’t know.

A few days passed since Anne’s last phone call. To no surprise, when she rang again, Will let his phone go straight to voicemail. This time, though, she didn’t cut off straight away -- no, she left a message, which was unlike his wife.

Will picked up his phone a few minutes after Anne left said message. It was longer than he’d anticipated, spanning across a fair few minutes, which was slightly troubling. He felt like shit for leaving Anne to her own devices. It wasn’t fair on her, but Will just couldn’t face Stratford as if nothing had happened. He couldn’t just act as if nothing had happened. Their son had died. Taking a deep breath, Will pressed the play button, listening intently to Anne’s every word.

“ _I need you here. I can’t do this without you. It’s all too much without you, William. The doctor referred me to a fucking therapist, William -- how am I meant to do this without you?_ ” She was crying. So much emotion was embedded in her voice. Months had passed since Hamnet died, and it seemed that Anne was struggling just as much as Will was. “ _It’s all too much without you here. I know your work is important, but… please, even if it’s just for a week, I need you here with me. Just come back to me._ ”

William. It was the constant use of his full name that hit close to home. By the end of the message, Will was crying himself. He’d left Stratford for almost six months, using the same old excuse as always, and he hadn’t even realised how much he’d hurt Anne by doing so. She’d left her to her own devices in the middle of the night without realising just how much she needed him.

Will put the phone down and put his head in his hands. What had he done?

_I have to go home._


	3. nothing to hide no more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After six painful months, Will finally comes home.

After her mini-breakdown outside of the doctors, Anne headed home and made a beeline for her bed. She’d cooked in excess, as always -- there was more than enough food for Judith and Susanna to tuck into while Anne wrapped herself up under her duvet, crying herself silently to sleep.

She longed for Will in every aspect. The space in his bed had been unoccupied for six months, and Anne wasn’t coping very well with it. There was no telling that Will would listen to her voicemail and come home straight away, but she was hoping that he’d hear the heartbreak in Anne’s voice and would head home as soon as possible. 

Last time, as soon as possible was a week. Anne could be waiting for months and months until she saw Will’s face again, and she knew she could scarcely wait for months to pass. She’d just spiral down that hole further and further until she was nothing but a shell of her former self. She cried into her pillow until her head was thumping. Minutes passed until she finally fell asleep. Anne was welcomed by a void of nothingness.

Anne woke up a lot earlier than she usually did, unsurprisingly so considering how early she’d fallen asleep. Still very emotional and longing for her husband, she quickly dressed herself into something nice and comfortable, heading downstairs to brew a pot of coffee as she always did.

Anne noticed that the kitchen was uniform, thanks to the combined efforts of Judith and Susanna -- it was apparent that, after they’d had dinner, they’d cleaned the kitchen up. It wasn’t abnormal for the kitchen to be a mess, only because Anne would bury herself in her cooking and wouldn’t particularly clean up after herself if she could help it. Her stomach growled at the thought of food. Instead of cooking anything that required much effort, Anne tossed two slices of bread into the toaster and waited for them to heat up.

The therapy referral and the heartbreaking voicemail she’d sent to Will had hit her like a truck. Anne felt like she’d drowned her sorrows in alcohol -- in reality, she’d just had a breakdown and had cried herself to sleep until her head was pounding. Her head was still pounding, naturally. It was rare for Anne to sleep off a headache. Once her toast had popped up out of the toaster, she carried herself over to the sofa and reached for some ibuprofen, popping two pills and hoping they’d take immediate effect.

It was only about ten o’clock in the morning when there was a knock at the door. Anne presumed it was another round of post. She hauled herself off the sofa, expecting to open the front door to see the usual postman.

Instead of being greeted by the postman, Anne opened the door to find Will standing there, a large suitcase in tow.

Anne’s eyes widened. Was she seeing this right? Was her husband _really_ in front of her? Not even a day had passed since her slight breakdown, and Will was back. Immediately, tears pricked yet again at the corners of her eyes. She tried her best to blink them away, but to no avail. With each passing second, Anne realised that everything she was seeing was indeed real. 

“William,” whispered Anne, choking up as she drank in the image of her husband standing in front of her. He looked like he’d lost some weight in the months he’d been gone. He looked exhausted, with somewhat noticeable bags under his eyes. Despite his condition, Anne was so grateful to see her husband standing there.

“I’m sorry,” said Will, scooping Anne up into a tight, bone-crushing hug. “I’m sorry for everything, Anne. I shouldn’t have left. Please forgive me.”

It was like he’d never left. The wounds were fresh again, but Anne didn’t care. As tears fell, she wrapped her arms around her husband’s thinner form. Will was back. As they hugged, the world around them melted. Nothing mattered anymore. Both of them knew that they’d have to talk about everything eventually, but in that very moment, nothing mattered.

“I missed you,” sobbed Anne into Will’s chest.

“I missed you too,” whispered Will, planting a firm kiss on Anne’s scalp. “Words can’t begin to describe how much I missed you, Anne. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

Anne didn’t find any strength to reply. She wasn’t angry anymore. She had missed her husband to such an extent that it was killing her, and he was back. Will was back, and that was all that mattered. They stayed there outside of the house for five minutes, not breaking their hug, both of them soaking in the solace of finally being reunited with their other half.

When they finally had the courage to break the hug, it was almost as if nothing had happened. It was like six months hadn’t passed, and Will had only been away for a week. It was almost like they hadn’t lost Hamnet, and neither of them had been engulfed by suffocating amounts of grief.

“I just made a pot of coffee if you’d like some,” said Anne, wiping away the tears that’d stained her cheeks and smiling up at her husband. Will smiled down at his wife, running a finger through her beautiful ginger hair. It’d grown a fair bit since he’d last seen her.

“I’m trying not to drink coffee,” replied Will. “I’ve missed you so much, Anne.”

“I know. I’ve missed you too.”

* * *

Anne and Will spent most of the day on the sofa cradling each other. They knew they’d have to talk about everything, of course, but they just wanted a day or two of peace and tranquility in the household. The gap left by Hamnet’s death and Will’s prompt departure wouldn’t ever be filled, naturally, but they were going to confront that at another time.

When the girls came downstairs, they weren’t expecting to see Will sat on the couch with Anne curled into his side. Judith and Susanna were screaming out of joy; just like Anne, they hadn’t seen their father in six months, so it came to no surprise when they jumped onto Will -- and, as a result, Anne -- out of sheer excitement. For the first time in almost six months, Anne felt elated again. Her husband was back, and everything was going to be okay.

After the girls went to bed that night, the silence in the room was practically deafening.

“William,” said Anne, a somber expression falling across her face. “We need to talk.”

“I know,” replied Will, his hand inching towards Anne’s. “Words can’t even begin to detail just how terrible I felt for leaving you and the girls.”

“Those six months felt like years, William. I just want to know why you left in the middle of night with no explanation,” she continued. “We knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I needed you and you weren’t there.”

“I know,” said Will, his eyes glassing over, tears already forming. How could he explain it? He wasn’t sure he could. He was supposed to be strong for his daughters, for his  _ wife  _ \-- and he hadn’t been there for them when they needed him the most. Hamnet’s death was always going to be painful, but Will naturally felt immense guilt for all of the time he spent in London when Hamnet needed him the most. “I felt so much guilt for not being there for him, Anne. And when I got back, it hit me just how much I’d betrayed you all by being away so much. I was meant to be strong, and I wasn’t, and…”

Will couldn’t finish whatever he was trying to say; he broke down in floods of tears. Suddenly, he was breaking down, showing his most vulnerable side. Of course he hadn’t been okay. He’d spent the last few weeks of Hamnet’s life in London, burying himself in work, scarcely sleeping, skipping meals and drowning his sorrows in coffee. And now it was all out in the open -- he wasn’t okay, and Anne didn’t need to know that. Anne wrapped her arms around Will’s broad shoulders, crying herself, burying her face into Will’s shoulder, stroking the nape of his neck softly. 

The words Anne had said before Will slipped away in the night were practically ingrained in Will’s head, and even as Anne hugged him, reassuring him that everything was going to be alright, he still felt like a failure.  _ Stop it. Life isn’t fair, William. I know that now.  _

“I should’ve been here for you,” muttered Will.

“We should’ve done this together, Will,” whispered Anne. Nothing had been right since the doctors told Anne that Hamnet wasn’t going to get better. The family had fallen apart as they watched Hamnet slip away. None of it was fair. Anne was rapidly slipping into a worse state, as was Will, and neither of them had been there for each other. “You don’t need to pretend like everything’s okay when we both know it’s not, Will.”

“I didn’t want to be weak,” continued Will, his breath practically trembling. “I needed to be here for you and the girls, and -- and I wasn’t, and that was wrong of me. I was trying to be strong, trying  _ so  _ hard, but I couldn’t bring myself around to the thought of moving on.”

“William, look at me,” said Anne, putting her hand on Will’s leg. “You’re not weak. We’re all human. We’re  _ bound  _ to be emotional. We lost our little boy. No-one was expecting us to move on as if nothing ever happened. I promised I’d love and cherish you until the day I die, didn’t I?”

“Mmm,” muttered Will, barely being able to look at Anne. He felt like a coward for crying in front of his wife, but Anne placed her small hand on the side of Will’s face, securing eye contact with her husband.

“You’re not a burden, William. This was never going to be easy for anyone, but we need to be there for each other if things like this ever happen again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” continued Anne. “I just can’t bear the thought of being away from you for such a prolonged amount of time again. I love you, William. I think all of this proves we need each other now more than ever.”

“I promise you I won’t leave your side ever again,” swore Will, wiping away the tears that were still streaming down his cheeks. “I can’t apologise enough for being gone for six months, but I promise you I will always be by your side through thick and thin from now on.”

Of course, while Will did have work commitments, he stayed true to his word and didn’t leave Stratford again for almost a year, committing his life to his family.


End file.
